On the Moors
by Relevant
Summary: What if James was not quite as alone as his records indicate? Who would he call in when the excrement was about to hit the fan blades? John Watson, ex-army doctor has an unexpected connection to 007. Not exactly a fix-it fic. Rated T for Skyfall violence and blood.


I own neither James Bond nor Sherlock

* * *

John sat down at his office desk, picking up his pen again for paperwork when a muffled ring came from his coat where it hung by the door. He hesitated for a moment before putting down the pen and rounding the desk to dig the slim flip phone out of an inside pocket. He stopped to look at the number before answering. "Hello?"

" _John, you never answer the phone like that."_

"I do when I don't recognize the number."

" _And my phone is probably still hidden in my old flat."_

"Yes, I had heard you were dead. Jack bought your family stead just in case you managed a resurrection. It's nice to have him proven right. So what do you need, James?"

" _I have a situation, well developed, happening tomorrow up on the moors. Well, I don't expect him to take longer than tomorrow to catch up."_

John leaned against his desk. "What do you need me to do?"

" _He's rabid. This is going to get messy. After it's over I don't want to wait two hours for a doctor."_

John's mouth quirked, "There's someone you're protecting."

There was silence for a moment before James replied. " _An ex-agent is after my boss. It's personal."_

"Is she aware of me?"

" _She is aware of the potential for you. But also aware that I'm not in the habit of calling on my extended family."_

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

" _There is an old chapel on the stead."_

"Your fallback position?"

" _Yes. If you don't mind cold camping."_

"You don't want me at your side?"

" _One person more is one more person to get shot. I work better mobile and you don't have my training."_

"But having a doctor around afterward is invaluable. I understand. I'll let you know when I get there."

" _John… Thank you."_

"…Anytime, James." John closed the flip phone and dropped it back in the coat pocket before shutting down his work computer and scooping up his smart phone. He shed his lab coat as it rang through and grabbed up his coat and rucksack.

" _John? I thought you were going to be at the office with paperwork tonight."_

"Mary. I am at the office. I got most of it done but I've had an emergency come up. I need to leave now and I'll be out of contact probably for a few days."

" _I'll make arrangements."_

"Thanks, Mary… I love you." He said the endearment in a way that said that he was still unused to using it.

" _I love you, too, John. Go do what you need to do_." And she hung up.

Even as he was leaving the office and double checking that the doors were locked he was online arranging to rent a vehicle.

John stepped out of the small rented grey car and stretched stiffened muscles. The sun which should have been high in the sky barely lit the day through the grey clouds. He pulled out the flip phone, he had taken the precaution of leaving his smart phone at his flat, and texted the unknown number James had called him from before. _I'm here, just over the hill. -W-_

It took a few minutes for the response to come back. _You should see the chapel. Turn off the road to it. I'll be right there. -B-_

John rolled his shoulders, wincing at his stiffened left shoulder, and slid back into the driver's seat. He eased the car off the road onto the barely visible track, winding carefully around the back of the chapel concealing the car from the road. He settled on the hood, Sig Sauer in hand and waited.

In a few minutes he saw a lone figure, holding a shotgun, appearing and disappearing behind clumps and uneven rolls in the ground. The sandy blonde hair seemed familiar but John kept his grip on his pistol. The figure seemed to be taking the long way around circling to approach the chapel from the side away from the road. As he neared John relaxed with recognition.

"Hey, James."

"John." They managed a one armed hug each not putting down their respective firearms. "Thanks for coming."

"Anytime, James. You took the long way around. What's out there?"

"A deep pond, iced over but not reliably thick ice yet."

John slipped his Sig back into its hidden holster and got his two packs out of the car. "Tell me about our situation."

Dusk was falling, the car was hidden in a dip in the land away from the chapel and under a tarp covered with dirt and weeds. John was settled by the entrance to the dark chapel wearing his heaviest coat over a warm jumper hidden in the shadow of the chapel. In the quiet on the moors, quieter than any night in London, a large vehicle could be heard approaching on the road. It crested and slid down the hill toward the entrance to Skyfall where a large group of men dismounted and trekked across the moor.

It wasn't long before the sound of gunfire and explosions and the brief flashes of light could be seen and heard across the moor. And then a helicopter thrummed overhead on its way to the Skyfall stead house. John stayed low and quiet while the helicopter rained bullets into the stone walls of the home. More explosions lit up the night and then one big one and the helicopter, taking flying debris from the blast, slowly crashed into the stone house, fire finishing the job of gutting the structure.

He sat back and kept an eye on the terrain looking for any sign of movements or survivors even as his heart clenched in worry for the dark blonde agent. A light appeared on the moor, wavering like a torch lighting the steps for two figures stumbling across the moor following a similar path as the one that James had taken earlier that day. Figures were also silhouetted against the fire, figures that turned and hurried across the moor taking a more direct route.

John faded deeper into the shadows beside the entrance and drew his pistol. It wasn't long before the pair of figures approached the chapel door.

A gruff male voice could be heard, "You'll be safe here, Emma." John kicked a pebble, its gentle clink against the stone wall getting the short woman's attention. At M's intake of breath the grizzled old man turned to see a short ash-blond man in a black coat almost blending into the shadow by the entryway and holding a drawn pistol on them and froze.

John lowered the pistol, "Kincaid, M. James called me in. He thought that after this was over you might need a doctor." In the face of their frozen forms and mental whiplash he quirked a boyish smile. "It's not that hard a concept is it?" He stepped forward transferring his pistol to his left hand and extending his right. "I'm John. Former army doctor."

M finally took his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, John. Although I regret the circumstances."

"And you're bleeding, ma'am. Let's get you inside and see to you." He used his hand in hers to draw her forward and slipped his left arm around her to help her along even while still holding the pistol. "Better bring my packs, Kincaid, I'll need them. And stay alert and armed, you've already given your location away." His calm, even tones spoke of years of command and of a doctor's control in a bad situation. It was the perfect tone to take with the mismatched pair, the woman used to giving commands and the gamekeeper used to arguing commands both ceding to the doctor.

In short order John had her laid down on the bench and her side exposed, a lamp lit from a shelf by the door and held high to best illuminate the wound. He tsked. "Not good, ma'am. The bullet is lodged inside and you have shrapnel around the wound. I'll need to get inside to get the bullet out but I don't want to risk exploring for perforations unless it proves necessary, not under these conditions." He spoke quietly while he worked to apply a pressure bandage and get her bleeding to slow down even as he laid out instruments and antiseptics beside his left knee on a disposable clean cloth his pistol resting by his right. "Kincaid, keep an eye on the entrances while you hold that lamp. I saw at least two leaving that bonfire James used to call a home."

"How did you know?" Her voice was quiet, breathy, but he heard it.

"Know what?"

"That I was shot."

"I didn't know you were shot, I did know you were bleeding. Even through the smell of explosives, smoke and stone dust the smell of fresh blood is quite distinctive. Especially when there's enough to be life threatening. So, ma'am, I'd appreciate it if you'll settle quietly and let me do my job, because James may not forgive me if you die on me." He quirked a smile at her where she watched his face as he worked. "James may make a hobby of resurrection but that is a hard act to perfect."

She almost laughed but restrained the impulse and just breathed deep for a moment before returning to shallow breaths. At that moment another entered the chapel.

Kincaid raised his rifle even as a shot rang out and Kincaid began to crumple. In that moment, before Kincaid and the lamp hit the floor, John and his Sig came up just far enough to get a shot off. For a moment there was darkness as the lamp seemed to go out, then the spilled oil caught and a merrily burning puddle was lighting up a pew and causing flickering shadows. John crept closer to the center aisle with the silence of a trained soldier. A peek around the bench revealed a fallen blond man struggling to get up to his knees with a nonworking arm.

He rose and rushed forward to kick away the fallen pistol and clocked the blond over the back of the bowed head. The stranger dropped unconscious and John backed off to roll Kincaid out of the edge of the fire and put him out, before pulling the pew out of the spilled oil. Coughing on the smoke he pulled his wool blanket out of his pack and began beating out the fire. Just then James limped in the door.

In one sweep his eyes took in the crumpled blond man, Kincaid, an apparent lack of M, and a fire trying to get out of hand. "What happened? Where's M?"

John similarly took in James with a quick flick of his eyes. "You're soaked, good. Help me with this. I don't like having the building burn around my patients. Thank heavens for stone floors."

James hurried forward stripping off his jacket. "And M?"

"On the front pew. Gunshot wound to left abdomen. Still breathing. I haven't had a chance to check Kincaid." John kept working on the fire, James contributing his wet jacket and in less than a minute the chapel was dark again. John grabbed up his rucksack and dug into its side pocket. In a few moments he had a torch aimed at M's side returning to his work and assuring himself of her stability.

Over his shoulder he heard James, "You're in good hands, Mum."

She took a breath and her voice was weak. "I've seen. Can I offer you a job, doctor?"

John huffed in a near laugh, "Thank you but I have a job. And reasons to stay in London. And what did I say about settling? James, take her wrist, keep an eye on her pulse and pressure on this bandage, don't kneel on my tools. I need to check on Kincaid." And they switched positions and John bent over the other fallen ally dragging his kit bag with him.

James pulled out his phone and sent a text. _Medical and extraction team to Skyfall. -007-_

"James," M whispered. "Who is he?"

James glanced over at John where he worked on his old friend before whispering in her ear. "Extended family. Now hush, Mum."

With Kincaid treated John slipped over to where James kept an eye on M. "Kincaid will be fine. It just grazed his skull. It's the possible long term effects that may be a problem. Let me check her again and then you. And you might want to make a decision about the other one before he makes it for you."

"You didn't kill him?"

"Shot him and knocked him out. After that he was kind of far down on my priority list. Figured it would be bad form to tie him up if you decided he needed to be dead."

"Thank you, John. For everything. As soon as you're done you'll want to be on your way. M won't betray you."

John pressed his Sig into James' hand. "You'll want this. I got it from Jack." And John turned his attention to M while James turned his attention to Silva. In a short time there was another gunshot and James returned to John and M. "Are you hiding any injuries, James? I haven't got the hands free to badger you into taking advantage of my skills."

James knelt next to John and spoke quietly. "No more than scrapes, perhaps breathed a bit of water from the pond. I can wait. How is she?"

"We'll see after I get the bullet and splinters out of her." John moved aside the pressure bandage to take a look at the still oozing wound. He pressed it back to the wound, "Take the torch, keep pressure on the wound." And John began cleaning his hands and slipping on the sterile nitrile gloves from a freshly opened package.

After an extended process involving extracting the bullet and splinters while trying to keep the wound site clean until it could be re-bandaged, John sat back on his heels and discarded his gloves, dropping them onto of his pile of used gauze. James eyeballed the thick pad of gauze taped to M's side. "How is she?"

"She's basically stable. There may be some internal bleeding still, but short of turning this into an impromptu operating theater, I can't do anything more than suture the wounds and hope. And I hesitate to start exploratory surgery without blood or plasma for transfusion. I haven't used any anesthesia or sedation on her. If I had a team and equipment here I wouldn't hesitate but since I won't be around to keep an eye on her… unless you want me to be?" John looked up at James.

"Would it significantly change her chances?"

"If she crashes, yes."

"Then stay."

An hour later James straightened and said to the air, "We're in the chapel. We're still alive though M is in a bad way. Silva's dead."

"Ask if the medical team brought blood for transfusing."

"I have a doctor here with me. I'll hand you off to him." And James pulled out the nearly invisible earpiece and tucked it into John's ear.

"Can you hear me?" John asked

" _Loud and clear. This is Dr. Lambert heading up the medical team about five minutes away from you. What can you tell me?"_

"M took a small caliber round and wood shrapnel to the left abdomen. The round has been extracted but it appears to have nicked something. Her BP has been steadily fading even though external bleeding has been halted. Pulse is getting thready. I've administered morphine but felt sedatives were unwise. If I hadn't known you were on your way I would have operated half an hour ago. Please tell me you have the equipment for a field hospital."

" _That we do. May I ask who you are?"_

John's eyes met James', "Someone that James trusts with M's life, though he's rather careless with his own. Just call me John."

James leaned forward to speak near John's ear. "All mention of John, even his presence here, is to stay out of all reports until M is awake to uphold or countermand that order. You are to defer to him as the doctor on scene. I can assure you that he is a very good surgeon, tried and tested in the harshest of conditions. You will find no more expert hands."

John's response was flat. "You flatter me, James."

"And you are too modest." And with that rejoinder they let silence fall until it was broken by the sound of helicopters coming in and banking to find a place to land. John bent over M to shield her from the dust stirred up and sent through the missing panes of the windows of the old stone chapel while James went to the door with John's torch to guide in the team.

Four hours later, after two hours with John's and Dr. Lambert's hands inside M tracing what they could of the path of the bullet and stitching her back up, with light beginning to brush the horizon John eased the rental car back onto the road as the helicopters carried away James and his patients. He only drove a half an hour before he came to a stop in front of an inn. He signed only 'John' and paid in cash before getting under blessedly hot water and dropping into a proper bed.

Sitting at the bedside of his boss, a small woman of silver hair and steel will, James thought on the dedication they shared for their country. Time passed slowly, nurses came and went checking her vitals, and she finally eased her eyes open.

"Bond. Report."

"We live. Silva doesn't. Skyfall is destroyed."

"And John?"

"Has been kept out of all reports unless you desire otherwise."

"John is…"

James hesitated, "Half brother through Jack, Mum. And the reason you are alive. Though I strongly suggest you let the record show otherwise."

"Why would I do that, Bond?"

"Because you are about to step down as M. Because it is unlikely that Silva would be the only one out for revenge. Because without the resources of MI6 around you your likely lifespan can be measured in months. Because you deserve a chance at a restful retirement." James leaned forward. "Dr. Lambert has set up two sets of records; one shows you died at Skyfall despite our best efforts, the other charts your miraculous survival and recuperation. Q has been working up a new identity for you. It will be useful whichever route you choose to retirement. If you need to talk it over with someone, Mallory is temporary head of MI6. Although he doesn't know about John."

M barely took a moment to think. "I think you are right to keep him a secret. I don't need to consult with Mallory for this though he may wish to consult with me. Tell Lambert that M died at Skyfall. Now, I do believe that I shall sleep some more." She took a deep breath. "And Bond, I was right. You belong in the field. You have my gratitude, as does John." And she closed her eyes among the beeping machines and slept, her face smoothing in the relaxation of laying down long carried burdens.


End file.
